


Trust Not Your Prowess Nor Your Strength

by Butyoucancallmemeg



Series: Ascendants [5]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Evie Is Not A Doe-Eyed Waif, F/F, M/M, Magic, United States of Auradon (Disney) Is Not Perfect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butyoucancallmemeg/pseuds/Butyoucancallmemeg
Summary: The door closes behind Evie and Doug before Mal can even think to make a call. She’s off her game, she just zapped her right hand man, and now Evie is alone without backup. And,she just zapped her right hand man.-Evie breathes, deep but silent, the spicy ambient-magic-scent pulling deep into her lungs, and turns on. Like magic, a girl looks up from a table near the middle, straight at her, and it ripples through the room.-Mal is Fae. Evie is a Witch. Auradon Prep is not prepared. (a Short Skirt/Long Jacket continuation)
Relationships: Evie/Mal (Disney), Jay/Carlos de Vil
Series: Ascendants [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1375066
Comments: 51
Kudos: 219





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trust not your prowess nor your strength,  
> Your only safety lies in flight;  
> For in her glance there is a snare,  
> And in her smile there is a blight.  
> -James Weldon Johnson, The White Witch
> 
> Yes, I did start a new fic instead of continuing the old one. The last fic accomplished the goal of showing Evie being a badass, and now I have a different goal, which is to show Evie AND Mal being badasses.

“Hang on,” Mal whispers. She throws an arm out, catching Evie in the chest and halting her mid-stride. They’re standing outside the dark wood door of the boys’ room. With Mal leading, they retraced their steps through the halls of the castle with silent ease, peering around corners to avoid being seen or stopped, though no one had so much as crossed their path. Part of Evie had been hoping that Mal’s magic would settle into background noise given a bit of time for Mal to grow accustomed to it, but after around ten minutes of laying on the ground Mal reported no change, sat up, and announced they’d be going back to Jay and Carlos’s room. Her eyes still haven’t lost their electric glow, the kind that Evie knows under the barrier used to only come in flashes. 

“I gotta use the secret knock.” 

Evie raises an eyebrow, but takes a step back. Mal takes a step closer to the door, and knocks exactly once. Then, after a beat, she knocks again. 

The door opens to Jay, who peers left and right down the hallway before rolling his eyes. Stepping back, he ushers them both into the room, looking tense.

“That’s your secret knock?” Evie asks, incredulous. 

“The genius,” Mal says imperiously, “is in its simplicity.”

Carlos, from his seat on the far bed, mouths the same words silently along with her, looking bored. Closing the book in his lap, he stands, sliding it out of sight under a pillow as he makes his way to the middle of the room. He must have nabbed it from the library while they were stopped there, clever boy. He’d had to leave his collection behind just like Evie had to leave most of her mother’s potion manuals, but she knows he sacrificed the space for his paperback animal encyclopedia into his backpack just as she’d brought Mother’s most battered and well-used Grimoire at the cost of her red dress. Some things couldn’t be left behind.

Jay throws the lock forcefully into place. The second he turns around, he’s crowding Mal, looking her over like she may have been stabbed in his absence. They all clocked the same things earlier: The fine tremor of her hands and shoulders, the tension in her spine. She kept it well off her face, but each of them has had to hide an injury before - they know the tells. 

“Something happened.” Jay says, “With Prince Fuckface. What did he do?” 

Jay’s anger is an intimidating thing. He seems to grow with it, taking up more space, jaw firm and eyes sharp. It’s nothing like the Jay that Evie is used to, who’s all charm and misdirection, but she knows both are just tools in his belt, slipped on and off the way Evie changes outfits. 

Mal snorts, “Prince fuckface couldn’t kill a mosquito if it bit him first,” She dismisses, “It wasn’t him.”

Carlos delivers a smack to Jay’s arm, “See?”

Jay relaxes almost imperceptibly at that, but pushes on. 

“Don’t try to tell me nothing happened, Mal,” He warns, “I backed your play, but I’m not an idiot.”

Mal’s eyebrows flick up at his vehemence. “No one said you were,” she replies, softening. 

“Listen,” she sighs, “It’s magic.  _ My  _ magic. The Barrier suppresses magic, obviously, I’ve never been out from under it,  _ obviously _ , but Fairies are pretty much  _ made  _ of it. So when we got to Auradon, it  _ hit  _ me, like--” she falters.

“Like all of a sudden I was on fire or something.”

Evie has never seen Mal falter before. In every situation, she proceeds with surety of self and singularity of purpose. She knows what she wants. She knows who she is. Jay and Evie, they both have facets - personas they slip into, aspects they can hide away or hide the rest of themselves behind. Mal is just Mal - an unwavering constant. Both the unstoppable force and the immovable object. 

She doesn’t show weakness. She doesn’t admit her mistakes. 

“And then when I touched Prince Fuckface,” she shoots a glance at Jay and Evie can tell that she’s grateful to be able to inject humor into this somehow, that Jay’s grateful she’s trying, “It ... leaked.” 

Jay and Carlos digest this for a second, watching her carefully as she closes her eyes, takes a breath. The frustration is back, same as before, and it brings with it a tenseness in her shoulders.

“Alright,” Carlos allows, still keeping his eyes on her. His voice is low, guarded but calm. “Do you think it’ll leak again?” 

Mal’s bottom lip twitches, mouth going tight at the corners as she looks back at them. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Are you still --” Jay waves an encompassing hand over Mal’s whole body, “On fire?”

She huffs a humorless laugh, running a hand through her hair, “Yeah. No signs of stopping.” She straightens. 

“I’ve got a handle on it.” She says, firmly. Her tone signals clearly the end of the conversation. The boys won’t push, and Evie won’t either, but she has her doubts, and it’s clear she’s not alone.

Evie wonders if Mal realizes that her boys have her back just as much as she has theirs. They’ve been a team for a few years by now, and though  _ Evie’s  _ new, she can see it written in the easy way they accommodate each other, the established dynamics they’re settled into. There’s trust, there, though they might not use that word. 

“I think we should talk about tomorrow,” Evie suggests, stepping further into the room until she’s joined their loose half-circle. It doesn’t escape her notice that even now Jay is facing the exit, shooting periodic glances at it as if by rote. 

Mal relaxes, grateful for the turn of attention. Whether Mal’s magic will continue to be volatile is a pressing question, but a question that can be shelved for later. There are a lot of pressing questions to choose from, at the moment.

“Actually,” Carlos says, “I think we should talk about food. We nabbed enough from that car to last us a day or two, but we don’t know where or how hard it will be to get more.”

Jay straightens, cutting a look to Mal, then hustles over to the bed.

“Speaking of,” He slides his pack out from under the bed, crouching to dig around inside of it. After a second, he emerges with a small brown package clutched in his fist. 

“Keep your strength up,” He says, tossing it to Mal in an easy underhand. She catches it, frowning.

“Don’t,” Carlos advises, when Mal’s mouth opens to voice her protests. She snaps it shut. After glaring down at the bar for a moment, she peels off the wrapping. Inside is a muddy, dirt brown log.

Carlos and Jay haven’t dipped into their stores yet, if their curious attention is any indication. Evie watches carefully as Mal sniffs it suspiciously. The barges bring food from Auradon, so logically they should have some experience with Auradon food. Evie’s never seen anything like this come over on the barges before - it’s all produce, eggs, milk, and bread. 

Mal takes a bite, and they all lean in, expectant. 

“Mh!” Mal’s eyes go wide as she looks down at the little brown thing. 

“Good?” Carlos prompts, after a moment where Mal just turns it over silently in her hands. 

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” Mal exclaims through a full mouth, “Evie, try this!”

She thrusts the bar toward Evie, who takes it from her with two fingers, holding it up. The first bite has revealed a filling. The familiar sight of peanuts is comforting, but there are other unknowns inside. 

Food is food, ultimately, and Mal seems to like it well enough. Evie bites. 

Sweetness coats her tongue, creamy and decadent. The outside coating melts in her mouth, creamy and sweet, leaving behind the peanuts and a light, chewy filling. Some of it sticks to her teeth, but it dissolves when she runs her tongue over it. It’s like nothing she’s ever tasted before. 

She tosses the bar to Jay, who catches it seamlessly. “Eat that,” She commands, no frills. 

“Only ‘cause you asked so nice,” Jay teases, but does, chewing and swallowing.

“‘Los, c’mere,” he says urgently, closing the space between them to hold the treat up to Carlos’s mouth. Blinking away his surprise, Carlos leans forward, one hand curling around Jay’s wrist to steady it as he takes a bite. Evie looks sharply away. 

“It’s sweet!” Carlos says with surprise, fingers still wrapped around Jay’s wrist and eyes still on his face. “And… not sweet?” 

“Whatever it is, we can’t waste it,” Evie reminds them gently, breaking the moment. Jay jumps up to return the bar to Mal.

“Strength.” He tells her, firmly. Mal takes another bite. The moment stretches, everyone watching her. 

“Tomorrow?” She prompts, shifting uncomfortably under the attention.

“Tomorrow.” Jay confirms. Carlos slides off the bed, crossing the room to the desk and retrieving the shiny new paper and pens.

“A list.” He explains, preparing to write. 

“Written?” Evie asks delicately. Carlos grins, boyish and bright. 

“Let me have this,” he cajoles, a kid with a new toy, “I’ll burn it after, I promise. No evidence.”

Her hesitation crumbles in the face of his utter delight. 

“Alright,” Mal says, calling them to attention. She’s standing now, facing them all as equally as she can manage. The tremulous set of her shoulders has settled, her eyes faded to a dull glow. Evie isn’t naive enough to think she’s really adjusting, or that the sweets had really helped much - the curtain that she’d lowered in their room, for the boys, is drawn firmly back up, but the raw wound is still bleeding behind it. Right now, though, it’s time for business.

“What do we know? Go.”

-

Two hours later, Carlos has filled three sheets of paper, Mal is pacing, and Evie has migrated to the bed nearest the entrance. She’s leaning casually back on the pillows with her legs crossed at the ankle, idly studying her nails. Information breakdown is something they’ve grown good at, as they prepared for their daring escape - Mal sets the tone, controls the dialogue. Carlos is analytical, and he knows things - an uncommon amount of things, really. It’s a weapon in its own right, she thinks: Jay sleeps with a knife, Carlos arms himself with information. Useless every night but one. 

Mal is incisive. For everything that Carlos tells her, she picks through what’s relevant, connects the pieces together until she’s made a plan. They’re used to working from scraps, and this time is no different. There are too many unknowns for any of them to be off their guard. 

Evie and Jay bring their fair share to the table, too - Carlos and Mal are the planners, but no one knows people like Evie and Jay. Evie feels it isn’t terribly self-aggrandizing to say so - Mostly, it’s a skill that’s only an asset in the moment, but it’s proven invaluable for mapping out the what-ifs. Evie recounts what she’s gleaned of Auradon’s culture over the years, with the caveat that it came from Grimhilde’s mouth first. Mal seems to understand exactly how many grains of salt to take it with. It helps. 

“Stay sharp,” Mal says grimly, as they start to wind down, “We still don’t know what the angle is, here.”

A knock at the door, shave-and-a-haircut, makes them all tense.

Jay is up in a moment, crossing the room. Carlos slides his papers under the stack of blanks, sliding his chair away from the desk until he’s spinning it idly in the center of the room. Evie nearly leaps off the bed, hands flying to gently adjust her hair, her dress, her makeup. With the tip of her finger, she neatens the edge of her lipstick - it’s cheap, and tends to bleed - before licking the evidence carefully away. Smoothing down the edge of her dress, she looks up.

Mal is watching her. She takes a deep breath through her nose to stave off the blush she can feel at her neck, feeling abruptly  _ seen _ . People don’t  _ see  _ Evie without her permission. 

“Doug,” Jay greets, standing in the partly-open door. He’s hiding them from view, warning them of the company. Evie can picture the disarming, friendly smile he’s pasted on.

“Uh, hi,” Doug says from out of sight. He’s cautious. Evie softens, tucking her hair behind one ear. Her shoulders drop from their regal and rigid stance. Jay casts a half-glance over his shoulder, and she nods. 

The door opens all the way. 

“‘Sup man?” Jay says easily. Mal, Evie and Carlos are arranged in a triangle, and Jay splits the difference between Mal and Carlos as he steps back to let him in. It leaves Evie vulnerable, but that’s a calculated move. 

The great mystery of Jay is how he can be the most attentive mind in the room and the most impulsive at the same time. It gets him into scrapes about twice as often as it gets him out of them, but apparently it’s part of his “charm”. 

“Doug!” Evie says, eyes warming and voice sweet. He seems startled to see her. Behind him, Mal wrinkles her nose. 

“How sweet of you to stop by!” Evie smiles with her whole body, stepping up to greet him. He’s disarmed, brows climbing up to his forehead as Evie toys with the neckline of her shirt. His eyes flick down for the briefest moment before locking onto her eyes. 

“Uh, I,” he says, the picture of eloquence. 

“I’m here to take you guys down to dinner,” Doug says with an undemonstrative wave of his hand. The others close ranks quickly. Jay’s jaw goes tight as he readies himself for a fight - as if this twink would be the one to take them somewhere by force. Were it not for Doug standing right there, she’d laugh.

Like all good partners in crime, Evie and Jay have a few simple nonverbals - just the basics, for safety. Pinky to thumb for backup, pointer to thumb if you’re in the clear. Closed fist means wait, open hand to the face means run. 

“Where’s dinner?” Evie questions innocently. The hand on her shirt moves to her red pendant, closing all her fingers around it. Wait. 

Jay settles.

Doug seems to gather his bearings, soldiering on with more certainty now, “Dinner’s in the cafeteria. We didn’t hit it on our tour because it was closed, but that’s where we take our meals.” 

“Meals?” Mal repeats skeptically. The band kid simply tilts his body to accommodate Mal’s interruption.

“Uh, breakfast, lunch and dinner?” Doug clarifies, frowning. Mal’s expression doesn’t waver. “You guys, like, eat, right?” Doug checks, glancing up at the boys each in turn with a frown that borders on concern.

“We eat.” Carlos confirms, after a second too long, He’s guarded, the delivery’s awkward, but it must do the trick because Doug smiles at him. 

“And is it cool if I show you guys where to go do that?” The soft, probing smile he offers is almost… charming. 

And hey, it sounds like their food problem is solving itself. 

Mal narrows her eyes at Doug for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah alright Band Boy, show me the food.” 

The touch is blink-and-you-miss-it quick. Mal brushes past Jay to lead them out, the bare skin of her hand grazing his exposed arm.

A sharp crack cuts through the space, and a flash of static shock. 

Carlos leaps forward just as Jay stumbles back, grabbing him with steadying hands. Mal teeters a few steps, but stays upright. Another leak, Evie realizes. And this one, much harder to slip under the rug. 

Mal rights herself quickly, but her eyes are brighter than before, too-wide and glued to Jay’s face. Carlos has a white-knuckled grip on Jay’s sleeve, giving him a once-over, but the boys are professionals. They keep their faces mostly relaxed. 

Doug makes like he’s going to reach for them, mouth opening to speak, but Evie’s hand lands sharply on his shoulder before he can move. He glances to her, and she purses her lips, shakes her head.

“Jay?” Mal’s voice comes out with the barest waver, and Jay’s head snaps up. Mal’s facade is cracked nearly clear in half - Jay sees it too, because he brushes Carlos off. 

“I’m cool.” he dismisses, letting his hand fall to his side. Evie watches it flex and clench experimentally, just out of sight. 

“Doug!” Evie blurts, diverting attention as quickly as she can. He turns to her, eyes wide and lips parted like he really doesn’t know what to do here. She can work with that. 

“I’d really love to know more about this ‘cafeteria’,” she gives a little handwave at the foreign word, signaling her excitement, “Perhaps you can show me -” the slightest emphasis on  _ me  _ \- “And my fellow new students can join us in a moment.” 

Evie is frankly impressed with herself that she didn’t stumble over what to call them. Doug cuts a look over to Jay, who is frowning deeply at her, but gives a slow nod. Jay isn’t allowed to come because he needs to show Mal and Carlos that he’s not faking, and Mal needs to see that Jay isn’t faking before she’ll be able to compose herself, and Carlos needs to be their voice of reason, and none of that can happen while Doug is standing there being an outsider. 

Evie, for her part, plays a better shill than any of them. Besides, Doug marked himself an easy target the first time he blushed at her. She’ll be fine. Alone is how she does her best work. 

Sticking together is more important for the rest of them right now. 

“Sounds good!” He says, and he’s relieved when he can finally turn back toward the door. 

“After you, Miss Evelyn,” he says, flashing her a grin. She curtsies, sliding him a soft smile just to see the way his cheeks flush.

They’re all the way down the hallway before he musters enough courage up to break the silence, but she’s caught enough of his glances to know he’s been building up to it. 

It rushes out like a burst dam, “Am I allowed to ask what just happened?” 

Evie tilts her head consideringly. “You’re allowed to ask.”

He looks at her, and his eyes are sharper now that they’re alone. She thinks maybe Doug is smarter than she gave him credit for when he says, like he already knows, “And you’d give me a straight answer?”

“I can give you a lot of things, darling.” She replies, softening her gaze into something sultry as she turns to him, “but a straight answer is almost never one of them.” 

Doug coughs out an awkward laugh, flushing from his neck to the tips of his ears and breaking eye contact quickly. 

“At least you’re honest about it,” He quips, ducking his head. 

They turn down some stairs, another beat passing before he says, “They’re okay, though?”

It’s quiet, sincere. Despite herself, Evie falters for a moment in her steps, leaning against the bannister. It makes Doug stop in his tracks to look at her. It’s not a question she was expecting. These Auradon boys, they work off of a different script. Doug is watching her like he  _ cares  _ about her, about what the answer is. 

“Evelyn?” He prompts, still low and gentle and sincere, now with a hint of concern. He has big eyes that hurt to look at. 

She looks anyways, brushing off the moment like she brushes off an identity, like it’s easy as anything. 

“They’ll be fine. They’re over the worst of it.” She breezes, picking up her path down the stairs. It takes him a beat to follow, but he allows this answer, falling into step beside her again.

-

The cafeteria is bright, studded with tables and covered in bright, cheerful food. How food can be cheerful, she can’t begin to guess, but cheerful it is nonetheless. She stops in the doorway, casting her eyes over the whole of it. Doug waits patiently with her, so she tries to keep it brief, hides all evidence that she’s steeling herself for the people that lie inside. 

There are a lot of people, all dotted around various tables in clusters that make her feel like she’s analyzing gang dynamics. Four exits at each corner, a reasonably clear path between the tables, and food sits on a long table in the center of the room, with a glass shade over its top. There appears to be another line along the far wall. The entrance they’re standing at the mouth of leaves her no real way to escape this scene unnoticed, but no one has clocked them yet. She breathes, deep but silent, the spicy ambient-magic-scent pulling deep into her lungs, and turns on. 

Like a flicked switch - like magic, she realizes when she feels the warm rush of it along her fingertips - a girl looks up from a table near the middle, straight at her. It ripples through the room. She breathes again, deliberately, feeling the way the magic in the air settles briefly into her. It’s foreign. Interesting. Both nothing like how she imagined and exactly how it  _ should  _ feel, if she thinks about it. 

She’s glad that Mal and the boys aren’t here, that she’s the first. At the very least, she’s breaking the seal, and that might ease their way. The weight of their eyes on her makes her itch, but she’s used to that. Without looking directly at anyone, she says to Doug, “Shall we?”

He gestures another ‘after you’ toward the far wall. Her expression settles comfortably into something soft but knowing. It’s got a dangerous little edge to it, an undertone of smugness, and her mother would slap it off of her in an instant. She wants to be interesting, but unapproachable. Not haughty, not like Audrey was in the hallway, but enough to make a person think twice about asking questions they don’t want to know the answer to. Really, if Jay were here, that would be enough all on its own, and if Mal were here she’d offset even the softest and princessiest of demeanors, but with Doug, she’ll have to make her impression standing on her own two feet. 


	2. Chapter 2

The door closes behind Evie and Doug before Mal can even  _ think  _ to make a call. Her skin prickles, burning, like maybe if she looked down she’d find flames licking their way up her body. 

On the Isle, her magic was a wispy little candle - an innocuous sensation of warmth that she could only find if she dug for it, could only use if she grit her teeth and  _ pulled _ . Thousands of times she remembers wishing she could access her magic to do something substantial - to heal, to harm. Now, as every inch of her sings like an exposed nerve, buzzes like TV static beneath her skin, all she wants is to go back to not having any magic at all. 

Static electricity, Evie said. Mal called herself a bomb. Maybe she’s both.

The silence of the room comes rushing back as Mal looks up, catches Jay watching her. Has she been silent for too long? When she touched him, time had stretched out like bubblegum, the . 

He’s leaning against the wall, still and casual. Jay has a habit of projecting calm power with his whole body - partly defensive, like a subliminal ‘don’t fuck with me’ shield, but partly because that’s his job. He’s a rock, the immovable object and the unstoppable force together. And Mal hurt him.

Okay, she needs to get a grip,  _ fast _ .

“I’m okay.” He says, low and firm. Let no one ever say the man isn’t good at his job. His eyes, dark and sincere, bore into her. With one hand, not looking back, he grabs Carlos by the arm, squeezing gently. The touch settles him. 

Mal breathes in deep, holds it, lets it fill up her lungs and focuses on doing the exact opposite of what she’s done her whole life, shoving her magic down and away. It’s not sustainable, she can already feel the strain of holding it there, and she feels a little like she’s looking at the world from underwater, but it works. Sort of works. 

For now, it’ll have to do.

“You’re okay.” She repeats on the breath out. She tries very hard, as she does, to sound like she believes it. Show no weakness, take no prisoners, trust no bitch - the unofficial family motto. 

“Are  _ you _ ?” Carlos asks, looking grounded. Jay’s hand lingers, and he lets it. They’re alone, now. The short answer, of course, is no, but she humors him. Dulled senses are dangerous, but they come with a weird gut-certainty that she won’t accidentally explode anything. Still, it’ll probably be a while before she gives touching someone another go. Maybe even never. Never sounds good - and hey, that’s a problem solved. 

“I’m never touching another person again.” She says, instead of answering. It feels reasonable, practical. Probably not an overreaction. Carlos’s eyebrows flick up and he blinks, taken aback.

“Sounds doable.” Jay drawls, voice light but sarcastic. He shifts to lean a hip on the desk. It’s a little rich, she thinks, that he can be so blasé. Everything in their lives has changed today, forever. 

“It’ll solve the problem!” Mal exclaims, eyes too wide as she splays her hands out in front of her. What does he want from her? What solution was he hoping to get? She rubs a hand over her face. The day isn’t even over yet. 

“Do you have a better plan? Evie’s got no backup, we can’t sit around holed up in here forever.” 

When Jay doesn’t respond, a stubborn little thread of vindication wriggles up her throat. 

“Yeah.” Mal bites out on a humorless laugh, “I thought so. As of now, no touching.”

Carlos has put his thinking face on, and his eyes cast over the room, the desk. 

“Does it happen every time?” He asks, half-addressing the room at large. 

“Two of two is pretty damning.” 

Her eyes track his movement as he begins picking through the pile on the desk. Without warning, he tosses something blue at her. A notebook. Instinctively, she catches it against her chest, the pads of her exposed fingertips pressing it into her jacket in direct, surprise contact. Carlos’s mouth twists thoughtfully, looking at her and her hand and the notebook. He’s a smart kid. 

“Nothing happened?” He checks, focusing back in on her face. 

Mal thinks for a second, focuses on her fingers against the paper. Both times before, it had felt like the stretch and snap of a rubber band all at once, shocking and instant. Now, there’s nothing. She tells him so with a shake of her head. 

“No leaks,” she confirms. She’s not sure if that’ll make sense to him, but he nods his acceptance, like he gets it. 

“Could you -- could you  _ make  _ something happen?” Carlos’s voice is careful now, like he’s treading somewhere sensitive, “D’you think?” 

To be perfectly honest, the idea of doing it on purpose didn’t cross her mind - too wrapped up in the new sensations to remember all the parlor tricks she’d spent so long perfecting before. For years, Mal fantasized about what her magic might be capable of outside of the barrier. The possibilities might be endless.

Maleficent’s stories about magic were enchanting and exciting, when she was in the mood to tell them - pillaging, death, destruction, chaos. 

Picturing Jay’s flinch, Carlos’s concern, she falters. Carlos, either psychically or because she’s somehow projecting it, seems to sense her hesitation, and nods. 

“Some other time, then.” 

Jay ambles over to the other desk, picks up another notebook. He turns it over in his hands, touches the cover, and then, of all things, lifts it to his nose, smelling it. 

“Uh?” Carlos says. Mal is inclined to agree. 

“Magic.” Jay says, by way of explanation. Catching their blank expressions, he elaborates.

“Y’know how it smells like dirt? Thought maybe that’d make a difference, but there’s no magic on these.” 

Carlos makes a thinking noise. 

“How do you know?” He asks. The kid really does ask too many questions. All the same, Mal finds herself waiting for Jay’s answer.

“Just do,” he says with a shrug. Then he looks at Carlos a little harder. “You can’t smell it? It’s everywhere around here.” He gestures encompassingly at the air in a way that could mean either ‘this room’ or ‘this whole country’. Considering how Mal’s been feeling since they landed here, she’s betting on the second. 

Her mother’s spellbook is still pinned into the back of her jacket, and - like a remembered cut - she can suddenly feel all the places it presses against the fabric of her shirt.

“Hang on,” She says, tossing the notebook on a bed. An idea is developing in her head. She throws a hard look at Jay. “Stay back.” 

The  _ last  _ thing she needs is for something  _ else  _ to befall them. At her own stupid, magical hands. 

She shucks her jacket, lays it open on one of the beds, and stands over it. Under it she’s wearing nothing but a thin black t-shirt, and the skin on her arms practically sings with the relief of being bare. A glance back at her boys shows that Carlos has a fistful of Jay’s vest tight in his hand. 

“Mal…” Carlos begins. She shakes her head. “Hang on.”

Carefully, she unpins the flaps of the book from the jacket. Picks it up. 

Back when Carlos set a tripwire for the clubhouse, he put nails into a clothespin and clamped them to a piece of plastic bottle. When the wire was tripped, he explained, the plastic would come out, and the circuit would close, He demonstrated to both of them, opening and closing the pin, and short little bursts of sound had come from the voicebox he looted from the barges. 

Holding the spellbook in both hands, she understands intimately what the nails must have felt when they touched each other, a circuit completing itself. 

In her hands, the book seems to flare to life, washing the room in a flash of eerie green light before fading. Warmth lingers under her fingers. She can still feel the magic, the way it roils under her skin, but it’s flowing now, into the book and back out into her fingertips in pulsing waves. The cottony underwater feeling subsides.

“I guess it does make a difference.” Mal says, turning on her heel to face the boys again. They’re silent for a moment.

“Huh.” Carlos says. 

“Magic is weird as  _ hell _ .” Jay says. Mal snorts. “You think?” 

Mal slips the book under one of the mattresses, out of sight. Letting go of it feels like a rubber band, her magic snapping back into her skin, and it’s back. She shoves it down, embracing the underwater-feeling gratefully. 

That’s enough experimentation for now. 

She has gloves that cover her whole hand, somewhere deep in her backpack, but her backpack is back in the room she shares with Evie. 

Evie.

“We’ve got to go find Evie.” Mal decides, putting her fearless-leader voice back on and willing her body to follow. She straightens her shoulders, sets her jaw. That’s more like it.

“Evie can handle herself.” Jay assures, “Are you cool?” 

Mal flicks her hair back out of her face and cocks a hip. She’s over feeling weak today. 

“I’m cool. And hungry, so…” She tilts her head toward the door, let’s-get-a-move-on. Jay rolls his eyes, expression uncomfortably close to fond, and nods. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” He says, like a relent.

The jacket goes back on, zipped to the chin, and she pulls her gloves down as far as she can over her fingers, so only the pads poke out. Carlos bends down to tighten his laces, and Jay shrugs back into his leather, pulling his hat back on. They look like they’re cruising for a fight. 

“Let’s go.”

-

The Cafeteria is, all in all, easy enough to find by themselves. Halfway down the stairs they’re hit by the smell of something cooking and can follow the scent, which eventually gives way to the murmuring sound of voices. 

Lots of them. The room is big and busy, full of other teenagers scattered around tables in groups, all of them engaged in each other, filling the room with color and noise. It’s the kind of crowd that you hide in, rather than hide  _ from _ , but Mal and the boys stick out like a bloody thumb in their dark ensembles. 

Mal holds a hand up when they reach the door, and the boys stop behind her, trepidatious as they peer into the bright white room. Four exits, each visible from all the others. Sight lines are clear over the heads of the people sitting down, and only a few people mill around the edges. She scans the crowd. 

Evie’s blue hair and dark clothes are like a beacon, drawing Mal’s eyes immediately to the center of the room. She’s still with Doug. Across from her is the Prince, and, upon a more discerning look, the pink little girlfriend is hanging off his shoulder. 

Fantastic. 

Mal juts her chin toward the table. “We’ll meet up with Evie first, get the lay of the land, then break for food.” She decides. Beside her, Jay nods. 

She steels herself, feeling absurdly like she’s about to cross into Pirate territory, then steps inside. 

Evie makes eye contact the second they’re fully inside, and Mal watches, waits to see if she’ll give them away. Like an answer to Mal’s unspoken question, Evie locks her eyes onto Doug and laughs, leaning in. Absently, she pinches a strand of her hair, twirling it girlishly. The kid practically blooms in his seat under the spotlight of her attention, a hot pink flush crawling up his neck as she flashes white-teethed smiles at him - she really does have the band kid wrapped around her finger. 

“That’s an all clear,” Jay murmurs. Mal blinks, tearing her eyes away. 

“What?” 

“Thumb and pointer, that’s an all-clear.” He says, lifting his chin toward Evie’s hair-twirling hands. Sure enough, Mal spots the “ok” symbol hidden in the gesture.

“No danger.”

“Damn,” Mal breathes, looking between Jay and Evie. She’s always known Jay to be clever, in his own way. He’s smart, when he deigns to use his head before his fists. Mal knows Evie is smart in the way you know the element on a stove is dangerous: it glows with it. 

“She’s as impressive as you said.” Mal admits, a little grudging. Evie has Doug eating out of the palm of her hand - not with the dainty desperation of the prince’s girlfriend, but with just the power of her attention. She doesn’t have to stomp her foot to be seen, whine to be heard. She’s just magnetic. 

Carlos splutters with surprise. Mal looks at him sharply, frowning. 

“What I said was that she’d be an asset.” He informs her, a particular sort of look on his face. He throws a look at Jay, and Mal knows without having to look that they’re doing that  _ thing _ . Where they  _ know  _ things together. 

A little childishly, she huffs, “Well, she’s that, too,” And strides off toward the table before they can rib her for it, and it is  _ not  _ running away. It’s not. 

The second Evie  _ really  _ looks over, everyone at the table simultaneously notices their approach. Maybe everyone in the room. Mal couldn’t feel the eyes of the Auradon populus on her before, but it comes at her full-force as she reaches the table. The prince fumbles himself to standing. The girlfriend loses her balance as he does, having to jerk herself back to rightness, but he’s too focused on hitting Mal with a blinding white smile.

She grimaces back. 

“Mal!” He enthuses, over-eager. Then, after a pause, “And Jay and Carlos! I’m happy to see you’ve made it!” 

Out of sight behind his back, Mal catches Evie close her eyes and swallow a laugh.

There’s food stacked high on plates at the table, and Jay’s fingers are already closing around the stem of an apple redder than Evie’s lipstick, ready to knock it off the table and into a pocket in his pants. 

“You haven’t eaten?” The prince checks, and Mal brings her full attention back to him. 

“No, just - finishing up getting settled!” She gives him plenty of false cheer, throwing an ironic thumbs-up just to see Evie’s mouth turn up at the corner. It’s oddly gratifying. He laughs. 

“Sorry, I know it’s probably a lot to take in. Evelyn wasn’t sure whether you’d be coming, but I’m glad you made it down to eat something. Long trip, and all that.”

He gestures them eagerly toward the serving line across the back of the room. Full of apologies and smiles, these Auradon boys. 

“Shall we?” 

Mal looks back at the boys. Carlos hasn’t stopped looking around the room since they got here. Jay is tense at her other side. 

“He’s been a lovely host in your absence, Mal.” Evie says, raising her voice to be heard clearly over the din. It’s lighter and airier now, among the people, than it was alone in Jay’s room. 

Now that she’s looking for it, Mal can read between Evie’s lines. She nods to the prince. 

“Lead on, Prince Charming,” She says with a flourish, “Show me the food.” 

Ben leads them a few paces away before turning to walk backwards. 

“Charming is actually a different guy,” he points to a shaggy blonde head across the room, “But --” he winks, “I can see why you’d be confused.”

Mal snorts. Ben’s face lights up.

The second he turns to face forward again, Jay swings himself into her line of sight, throwing another “Get a load of this guy” look at the prince’s back. It takes effort not to audibly laugh. In retaliation, she reaches up casually and tugs Jay’s hat hard down over his eyes. 

Irritatingly, his steps don’t falter.

Ben reaches the serving line at the back, hands each of them a plate, and gestures grandly down the long serving line. It seems like it goes on forever, bubbling soups in pans and the greenest vegetables she’s ever seen. There’s meat, too, and potatoes. She hasn’t had a potato in years, since the Pirates choked off the supply to corner the market. Out of principle, mostly. Her mouth waters. Jay’s eyebrows rise up to the edge of his hat. Carlos’s mouth is agape. Mal would like to think that she’s maintaining decorum, but she can feel how wide her eyes are. There’s more food than they’ve ever seen in their lives. Maybe more than Mal’s eaten since birth. Definitely more than Carlos has.

“You do this every  _ day _ ?” Carlos demands, breathless. Ben chuckles, entirely unphased.

“Evelyn asked the same thing,” He says on a laugh, “Yeah. Dinner is from six to eight, and lunch is from eleven to two. Breakfast, too.” He shrugs. 

“Jesus,” Mal breathes. Three meals every  _ day _ . 

“It’s nothing crazy,” Ben deflects, rubbing a hand over the back of his hair, “You guys act like you’ve never seen food before.” 

None of them can think to say anything for a second. The Prince’s smile dies a little, going shocked. She doesn’t want to picture what Jay and Carlos look like behind her. They’re all intimately familiar with the cavernous feeling of an empty stomach. She’s rarely ever had to go  _ truly  _ hungry, not for more than a day or two, but Jay? Carlos?

“You’re going to have to tell me what at  _ least  _ half this stuff is,” Mal redirects, pointing to something vaguely bready, layered yellow-and-white. She keeps her voice light and jaunty, like this is no big deal.

“That’s, uh, that’s cake.” Ben says, looking like the wind’s been taken out of his sails. His hands go into his pockets uncomfortably. 

“Yeah, totally, just- just take as much as you want. There’ll be more tomorrow.” 

Mal has a reasonably good time wandering down the line, pointing things out to Ben, who dutifully names them. Cake, spinach, kale, avocado, macaroni-and-cheese (original), pizza, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries. Some, she’s seen but never managed to taste, like broccoli.

“I’m noticing a trend,” She quips, taking a few of each. She points to another one.

“Purpleberries?” she guesses. 

“Grapes.” Ben says. His voice has taken on a weird hollow tone. She takes some. 

“Y’know, you could be telling me all the wrong names for these things and I wouldn’t even know.” She observes, snagging one of the grapes off her plate and popping it into her mouth. It bursts satisfyingly between her teeth, juicy and tart. 

Ben frowns.

“That wouldn’t be very nice,” He says earnestly. 

“‘Nice’,” Mal repeats around her grape with a chortle, “That’s adorable.”

There’s french fries, gold and fresh, which she takes a large helping of. The green things take up most of her plate, lettuce and kale and spinach. Ben helpfully points out a “dressing” which she’s supposed to drizzle on top of the greens. 

“To make them taste better.” He explains. Mal can’t really picture how fresh food could taste  _ bad _ , but she humors him. 

Behind her, the boys do the same, piling every fresh-looking fruit and vegetable they see onto their plates until there’s hardly any room left. Jay takes an orange and another apple, but they don’t make it onto his plate. 

Evie kicks out the empty seat beside Doug as they approach, and Jay takes it, making room for Carlos to sit on his other side. The only chair left is between Doug and the seat that Ben is sliding back into. It makes sense not to isolate Jay or Carlos from each other, but Mal still shoots Evie a hard look before sitting. Evie gives a half-shrug,  _ what can you do? _

“So!” Ben says, eager to break the ice before silence can befall the table, “Good first day?”

Jay chokes on a grape. Absently, Carlos thumps him on the back. 

“We seem to be settling in,” Evie replies easily, over Jay’s spluttering. She meets Mal’s eye and Mal gets the distinct impression she’s grimacing on the inside, but her face doesn’t change. It’s enough to make her bite down a smile. 

_ ‘Good’  _ first day. These Auradon boys. Soft as hell and  _ absolutely  _ clueless - too clueless. Is it all an elaborate front? Is Auradon trying to lull them into a false sense of security? It’s like none of them think before they speak. It’s honestly hard to believe they’d survive to young adulthood like that. 

As if to prove them right, Ben says, “Sorry,” to Jay, who holds up a hand to wave him off. 

“Are you excited for school tomorrow?” Doug asks quickly, straightening in his seat. Evie shoots him a smile, and he straightens his dweeby little glasses on his nose as he smiles back, all crooked. 

Mal, subtly as she can, gags. Evie kicks her. 

“Tell us about it?” Evie says it like an offer more than a request, giving absolutely nothing away. 

Ben ponders this for a moment, then says, “Well, what do you want to know?” 

“It’s probably  _ so  _ different from the Isle.” His girlfriend interjects. The underlying “and better” comes through every syllable.  _ Bitch _ . 

“Probably!” Mal agrees, matching her bubblegum tone with narrowed eyes. Then, with a swish of her hair, Mal turns her attention back to Ben - nothing grinds gears like being dismissed, especially if Audrey’s used to getting attention.

“So what’s it like? Spare no detail.” Mal lays her hand in her palm, eyes ingenue-wide to convey her fascination. They need to know what they’re getting into - and, Mal thinks privately, whether they should stick around to see it.

The plan to get to Auradon was great, and all, but Auradon is just one place. A place with food, sure, and beds, but there’s a string attached to the carrot being dangled in front of them. Mal just can’t see it yet. 

Weaponizing them against their parents is the theory that still holds the most water, in Mal’s mind, and it’s a plan doomed to failure. They should start planning contingencies now. 

“Classes start at eight thirty?” Ben offers, seemingly flummoxed by the question. It’s really not a hard one - there are only so many ways they can ask “what the hell is ‘school’?” without admitting that they don’t know. 

The fact that none of them seem able to come up with a satisfying answer is enough to set Mal’s teeth on edge, but none of them project any unease - no microexpressions of fear, reaction delays, nervous body language, nothing. 

Carlos is slanting a tense look at Mal behind Jay’s back, which she acknowledges with a dip of her chin. He’s right to be suspicious. Maybe they’re hiding something, maybe they don’t know the details, and maybe they’re just earnest little do-gooders trying their best, but Mal’s not willing to bet a dime on anyone but her crew. 

Her crew - not just her boys, but Evie, too. Somewhere along the way she seems to have carved herself a place on Mal’s team - Right under Mal’s nose, in true Evie fashion. They’ll stay the night, but they’ll be on their guard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. Listen. I know that Ben and Doug are not the characters you came here for. But Ben and Doug are lenses through which we learn about our girls. And also, they're privileged fucks and I wanted to show Ben being clueless abt how traumatized these children really are.


	3. Chapter 3

There’s only ever been one bed in the clubhouse. It’s a sagging, stained twin that Mal pulled in from Evil-only-knows-where, and even piled three across, limbs hanging off in all directions, it’s the best sleep Jay has ever gotten. 

The same goes for Mal and Carlos, he’d assume, because they’re both there whenever they can be. He hardly ever has to sleep alone, there, and it’s better that way - less chance to be overpowered, taken by surprise. The pirates either don’t know where they stay or don’t dare pay a visit - maybe both, considering its location - but there’s always the chance someone will come looking, either for them or just for a place to spend the night. 

Jay’s there nightly, unless his father’s feeling particularly exacting, and Los sneaks out every night he can manage it. More times than not, Mal arrives late to the party, clambers over them to make a space for herself against the wall. 

He wouldn’t say it out loud, but Jay keeps himself between Carlos and Mal and the door whenever he can, a first line of defense. He knows what he brings to the table on this team, and it’s mostly muscle. When Mal’s there, Carlos will curl into Jay’s space to make room for her, use Jay’s chest as a pillow or throw an arm around his waist, and they’ll all be pressed together in a tangle of limbs. It’s strange now, to be in this bed, alone, with its too-soft blankets and too much space. 

Doug pointedly mentioned a curfew, as he walked them back to their room, warning with a casual air that boys and girls aren’t strictly speaking allowed in each other’s rooms unattended. It would be dumb to assume they have an ally in Doug, but he’d conveyed his message clear enough with his careful phrasing and pointed eye contact - do what you want, but don’t get caught. 

“Well, there goes plausible deniability,” Carlos said with a put-upon sigh. He cracked a grin when Doug’s expression turned apologetic, and they’d waved him off soon after. They could try going to Mal and Evie’s room, but it’s a risk. And Mal won’t admit it, but she needs space to deal - to think.

At first, they try the separate beds. There’s two of them for a reason, surely. Jay, obviously, takes the one nearest the door. It should be a dream come true, to lie in a big, soft bed by himself, but he can’t make his body settle down. He stares up at the ceiling for a while, tries to think about nothing. He turns over. It doesn’t help. There’s no uncomfortable way to lay on this bed, really, there’s no reason he should be tossing around. He flips back onto his back. 

Once, he watched Evie sit still for three hours. Jay can hardly manage to go thirty seconds tonight before the itch of restlessness under his skin becomes too much. He breathes, like she does, and thinks hard about it as he does. In. Out. 

His foot twitches. A sensation in his leg begins to solidify into an itch the more he deliberately doesn’t think about it. Sighing, he shifts, and starts again.

In. Out. 

“What are you doing over there?” Carlos asks. His voice isn’t loud, but it shatters the relative silence, making him jolt. Jay sits up. Carlos is criss-cross on the bed, looking at him contemplatively in the dark.

“Breathing.” Jay replies, a touch defensive. He knows as soon as he says it that the jig is up. He sighs. 

“Not sleeping,” Carlos deduces, unsurprised. He huffs, an almost-laugh, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He gives Jay a long look.

“Nope,” Jay agrees. They look at each other. Carlos’s feet hit the floor with the barest noise.

Something like relief unfurls in Jay’s chest when he crosses the tiny threshold between their beds. When he breathes out, he feels it settle into his limbs. Finding a corner of blanket, he lifts it in silent, grateful invitation.

“I didn’t want to be the one to break first,” He murmurs, once Carlos is settling in beside him. It’s an admission, the kind that he can make in the dark, with Carlos close and warm. An arm comes to wrap around his waist. 

“I know,” is the whispered reply against his chest. Then, “You’re a dumbass.” 

Jay snorts, the sound muffled in Los’s hair. It’s easier to breathe now that there’s a weight on his chest, and he doesn’t examine that closely. 

“It’s different here.” Carlos whispers. Now that they’re in it together, maybe the silence is a little more sacred. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. There’s not much more he can do but agree.

It  _ is  _ different - different from the Isle, from what they were imagining, from what Carlos’s books and Evie’s mom’s stories said it would be. But nothing has come for them, yet. There’s even a slight possibility that nothing will. Jay doesn’t believe in doing anything for the sake of it, let alone bringing (kidnapping, really) three Villains’ kids to a kingdom full of princes and princesses, but the other shoe hasn’t dropped yet. Maybe in a day or two they’ll make a run for it, once they’ve gotten their hands on a stockpile of food, and nothing will ever catch up to them - not Jafar, not Cruella, not these soft royals and their dumb smiles. Really, actually free. 

Jay’s fingers come up to brush the top of Los’s head, gently stroking fingers over his scalp.

“We survived them.” He says softly into the air, like he’s breathing it into reality. 

“Whatever happens now, they’re still in there. And we’re out here. We survived.” He tells Carlos, and it’s really an amazing thought. Never in his life, up until the very moment they crossed through the barrier, did Jay think he’d survive his father. Every moment Carlos was out of his sight, he pictured the worst Cruella could do. Suddenly, they’re out - both of them, all of them, the only people Jay’s been weak enough to want to keep alive - and the sword that’s been hanging by a thread over their head is just… gone. 

Carlos is alive, and Cruella will rot inside that bubble for the rest of her life. It’s hard not to think of them as  _ safe _ . This, where Cruella and Jafar can’t get to them, is safer than he’d ever dared dream they could be. 

Warm wetness seeps into the fabric of his tank top, on his chest where Los’s face is pressed into it. It’s tears. 

He’s never seen Los cry before, just the aftermath where the tears left tracks on his cheeks. His father always said it was weak - but his father isn’t here. He pulls Carlos tighter against himself, an unspoken acceptance, and lets the tears leave their wet stains on his shirt. 

_ We survived _ .

Jay listens as Carlos’s breath evens out, and lets the sound lull him to sleep.

-

School. What it really boils down to, from what Jay can gather, is a lot of sitting and listening to people tell you stuff. Evie’ll be great at that, she’s great at sitting. Carlos is like, the king of knowing stuff, so he’ll be fine too. Jay - well, Jay hasn’t had much experience with sitting or listening. He does a lot of running. 

The catch has not come, and the other shoe has not dropped, and it’s breakfast time, which means they’re going back to the food place again. Cafeteria. Whatever. Mal looks tired, in the way that Jay’s pretty sure only he can pick up on, where her lips are pursed in the don’t-fuck-with-me position a little tighter than usual. 

Mal’s a compensator. When she’s hurt, she punches extra hard. When she’s tired or hungry, she acts extra tough. Like those colorful frogs from that book Los showed him, that pretend to be poisonous to scare away predators even though they’re just weak little normal ones. 

Evie, on the other hand, looks like she always does. Radiant. Perfect. Prettier and more put-together than any kid on the Isle really has the right to look. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was magic, but she’s always looked like that. He saw her doing makeup in the limo, and even when she’d wiped it all off, she was probably still the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. 

Something’s different today, though. He can’t figure out what. 

They sit, and they eat, again, and there’s different food for breakfast than there was for dinner, and just as much of it even though all the students have to have eaten some. Jay takes another two apples, for his stash, and palms about six little portioned-out containers of peanut butter. He steers clear of the eggs, even though Doug is eating one, and pours himself some small crackery food into a bowl - Ben isn’t here this time to name the things they don’t know the names of, but crackers are crackers, probably. 

Doug passes them schedules, announces he’ll be escorting them around for the first few days until they “get the hang of things.” 

Evie bats her eyelashes at him and calls him a knight-in-shining, just to make him blush all the way from his neck to the tips of his big ears. 

“After all I’ve done for you?” Jay interjects, mock-offended. He hasn’t really been participating in this conversation, and Doug looks almost startled to hear him speak. That happens sometimes, when Evie talks. 

Evie and Jay bait each other into these games of innuendo often enough that it’s natural, thoughtless. Backhanded flirtation is ingrained in their conversation, even when it’s serious. They don’t always rise to each other’s bait, it’s not always a ping-ponging back-and-forth, but it’s fun - they do it for a living, but this kind is consequence-free. 

“Aw,” Evie coos, sitting forward in her chair and giving him a coquettish smile. He wasn’t sure she would play this time, because of Doug or because of her conversation with Carlos in the limo. He doesn’t think she’s a harlot any more than Carlos does, but she’d seemed so grimly certain. 

“Jealous of the attention, Jay?” She purrs. She’s working up to the innuendo, he can tell, so he just pouts at her, puts a hand over his wounded heart. 

“I’ll give you some next, don’t worry.” There it is. Mal, next to her, is startled into a laugh, and Evie visibly warms, to have caught her attention. 

“You can give me some anytime you want, Evie-with-the-blue-hair.” Jay tells her lecherously, giving her the up-and-down. She leans in on her elbows, angling so he’d be looking straight down her top, and says, “You think you can handle me, sugar?” 

Doug gives a surprised little guffaw, and she breaks with a tinkling little giggle, sitting up and brushing her long hair behind one shoulder. His face is red and his eyes are wide as he glances back and forth between them. 

“ _ ‘Handle’ _ you?” Carlos repeats with an incredulous grin, “You’ve done better.” 

“We’re in polite company,” Evie dismisses, with a half-head nod toward their bug-eyed companion. Ben isn’t with them this morning, on account of princely duties or something, but Jay thinks she might not have even gone this far, if he were. Somehow, Doug isn’t quite the kind of polite company that everyone else is. Which is news to Jay, really. 

Mal deliberately takes a bite of toast, distorting her voice when she says, “Speak for yourself.”

Evie rolls her eyes, but her lips are pressed into a fond little smile as she watches Mal chew obnoxiously. 

Interesting.

“Are - uh,” Doug looks nervously between Evie and Jay like he’s trying to re-orient himself with the world. And he gulps. It’s all Jay can do to keep a straight face, but he cuts his eyes over to Evie, holds her gaze for a second.

“Are you two...?” 

Evie saves Doug from having to ask the question and Jay from having to deny it with a dainty laugh, shaking her head. Jay can’t even begin to know what word he would’ve tried to use. Is there an Auradon euphemism for “screwing”?

“He wishes,” she tells Doug, and gives him a conspiratorial wink, like he’s in on a joke. Jay puts on a toothy smile and splays his hands wide, projects easy confidence. 

“What can I say, baby girl? You make my heart go pitter-patter!” 

Carlos, without missing a beat, yanks his hat over his eyes. Jay pulls it off to fix his hair, and slides Los a half-smile - their sharing-the-secret smile. He rolls his eyes, but the answering grin spreads syrup-slow over his face like he can’t quite help himself. 

“Gross.” Mal comments, again through a mouthful of toast. Ostensibly, she’s talking about him and Evie, but her eyes skate over Carlos before they land on Jay’s. He shrugs at her. 

-

When Doug begins to lead them to their first “class”, Jay catches Evie’s arm, slows her down until they’re a few paces behind the rest. She raises a questioning eyebrow, but lets him do it without a fuss. The halls are beginning to fill up with kids, chatting and walking to class, so he leans in and keeps his voice low as he asks, “Are you running game on the band kid?” 

Flirting with Jay probably wouldn’t have won her any favors if she was, but maybe she was baiting the kid into asking if she was single. 

“You’re not stepping on my toes, Jay,” She assures, like she’s guessed his thoughts. 

“It would help to know where your toes are,” He counters with a raised brow. She blinks, like that wasn’t something she’d considered. Evie’s generally a solo act, so that doesn’t surprise him. 

“He’s sharp, but he’s lonely, and I think we can use him later if we play it right,” She murmurs. Her eyes are following Mal’s purple head as it strays further ahead. They snap back to look sharply at Jay. “But I’m not trying to fuck the kid, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

He puts his hands up, easy surrender, and they start walking again.

“You just want him to think you might,” He surmises, not looking at her. They pick their way through the halls easily - other students look askance, step out of their way. Whatever, a little fear is healthy. 

Evie smirks, shrugs one shoulder, “I’m not responsible for the assumptions of other people.” She says, airy and smug. Okay, fair enough. He’s never seen Evie run a long game before, but he knows it’s her specialty. She’s already got the kid eating out of the palm of her hand. It begs the question, though --

“What about Mal?” He asks, and he keeps his voice as non-confrontational as possible, but she still whips her hair with how fast she turns to look at him. They stop again, facing each other.

“What,” She says, and her tone is flat, devoid of inflection. He looks her over, to gauge her expression, and her eyes are a touch too wide in her otherwise neutral expression. That’s new. He tries not to let it rankle him, the way her defenses have gone up. It’s not unlike the way Mal blew them off in the cafeteria not twenty minutes ago, and Jay knows exactly what  _ that  _ meant. 

“Easy, Vie,” He says, low and calm, “I’m just asking.” 

In a blink, she’s back to rights, tossing her hair behind her ear and rolling her eyes like he’s being ridiculous. 

“You don’t run game on your own crew, Jay.” 

And that, well. It isn’t an answer. Jay’s a professional, he knows what attraction looks like and he knows what Evie does when she’s running game. That’s not what this is. 

“No,” he agrees, pointedly, and looks her up and down, “You don’t.”

She bites her lower lip. 

“Nobody ever said you can’t fuck ‘em, though,” He says, and grins. He probably deserves it when she balks - eyes wide, face blooming red - and yanks his hat over his eyes before turning to catch up with the rest. 

-

After hovering at the door of History class, they decide to sit four-across in the back row. Doug takes leave of them quickly, breaking off to go in a separate direction, and it’s unspoken, the way they move as a unit. The back leaves them further from the door, but with everyone in their line of sight. Jay sits to Mal’s right, with Los on his other side, and Evie takes Mal’s left side. Whether it’s because she knows he’ll want to keep Carlos close or because she’s avoiding him is a tossup, but he doesn’t regret asking. Realistically, Evie can fuck whoever she wants, and most of the time she does, and it’s not his business. Mal is sort of his business, though. 

More and more kids filter into the classroom, and they laugh and chat with each other in between shooting his crew uneasy looks. He sits back in his chair, projects as much easy power as he can. Mal, to his left, looks bored already, but her gaze is sharp and careful. 

Evie’s ramrod straight, hands clasped in her lap. Jay lets his eyes linger on her for a second, waiting to see if she pulls out that vacant, empty expression, but she keeps her eyes focused, scanning the room. Good. 

All the kids in the desks have bags or backpacks, and as the room fills they pull out notebooks, little bags of pens. Some of them even have cheerful little colored markers. Jay didn’t bring his shit, left it in the room, but it prickles in him as he looks around - that he’s separated from his clothes, his dagger. 

They’re not defenseless, obviously - Mal keeps a knife in her boot, Jay has a switch inside his leather cuff, and he knows Evie’s fond of sewing razors into the linings of her dresses - but there’s something keeping them here, as long as their packs are all tucked away upstairs. He shifts in his seat. 

A woman approaches the front of the room. She’s smallish, a little round, with glasses and wisps of gray-brown hair that spill out from her updo, and it seems like she’s taking the time to smile at each individual student in turn. He waits, watching to gauge her reaction when her gaze meanders its way to the back row.

She tenses up when she catches sight of them, sprawled in their desks and empty-handed. It’s looking more and more like they missed some unspoken cue to bring paper and pens, for whatever reason. The woman blinks, then offers him a smile, but it’s fraught now and doesn’t reach her eyes. Jay meets her eyes, steady.

With a cough, she looks away.

“Class!” she calls, clapping her hands together. The room quiets, people still in their chairs, and Mal shares a glance with him,  _ brace yourself _ .

“As I’m sure we are all aware, we are joined today by four new students!” Her cheerful voice doesn’t waver as she gestures with a flourish to the back row. 

As one, the class turns to look at them. Oof. Jay lifts his chin, going for bold and brazen. A little fear never hurt anybody, especially not the ones being feared. Being scary is an asset more than it’s ever been a liability, in Jay’s experience. He meets a few trepidatious gazes and is gratified to see them drop their eyes fast. 

“Uh. Welcome -- Friends,” The initial enthusiasm has dimmed, but the woman presses boldly onward. 

Mal gives a low cough of surprise beside him, and there’s a beat of silence where the woman looks expectant, like she thinks someone’s going to speak. No one does. 

“Well,” She bursts, when the silence has stretched, “I’m sure you’re still settling yourselves in, and there will be plenty of time to meet later. Textbooks for this course are on loan in the library, and our next exam is in three weeks. I am Professor Merriwether, and this is History. Now,” she turns to the black wall beside her and picks up a small white stick, “Who can tell me something about the reading?”

Hands shoot up around the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft Jaylos content is self-care.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIGASS shoutout to Bluefriday for having the best and hottest descendants takes and for letting me scream when I got stuck on this chapter.

The seats in the Chemistry classroom are paired, two to a table, and Evie experiences the insurmountable urge to roll her eyes. Their fearsome foursome dropped down to an uneven three when Carlos was sent to a Physics class down the hall instead. Doug’s explanation had involved the words “grade” and “peer group” and “lower level”, and led Evie to the somewhat startling realization that everyone in Auradon probably assumed that Villains on the Isle had school too. 

She spent a long moment rather vividly trying to picture it, as the rest of her team had a vicious eye-contact-fight. Lessons from Cruella on how to be a raging bitch? Tips from Maleficent on how to reign chaos? Hardly. Knowledge is power, not to be imparted on just anyone. 

In the end, Carlos waved them off with an easy smile and serious eyes, assured them both that he’d be fine - for all the good his assurances do. Jay insisted on slipping his switchblade into Carlos’s waistband before letting the other boy out of sight. Fair enough, Evie thinks. There’s safety in numbers, but there’s plenty of safety in knives, too. 

If these Auradon royals had any sense, they’d know that picking off one villain at a time will only make the others more vigilant, but Evie would venture that whatever scheme or plot they were brought here for, it won’t be executed at school. Too much valuable collateral sits in the seats around them for anyone to take a shot at them. 

It’s bearing this in mind that Evie bites the bullet, and takes Doug by the hand, leading him off to an unoccupied table across the room. Jay will want to stick with Mal, and Evie is perfectly capable of handling herself. 

It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with her conversation with Jay in the hallway. 

Evie wouldn’t go so far as to say that Mal is  _ vulnerable _ , right now, but she certainly isn’t in top fighting form. She’s still Mal, prickly and stubborn, and last night in their room she was brimming with things to say, about Ben’s vapid girlfriend and his stupidly emotive face.

“Doesn’t he have, like, an off switch?” she demanded, throwing her arms up in the air in the middle of the room as she paced back and forth over the carpet, “Like, for his face? I’m exhausted just looking at him.”

Evie leaned herself gently against the door, watching with considering eyes. The caged-animal look Mal was sporting made her look dangerous, powerful. She stalked the room like the edges of her cage, like she was sizing up exactly how hard it would be to break out and maul the world. It draws her in, Mal’s danger. The sharpness of her is so foreign to the way that Evie sees herself. Evie has to work to make herself soft, to cover her sharp edges with demure flirtation, but Mal’s edges are right on the surface, a barrier, and Evie itches to know what’s behind it.

At one point, Mal whirled on her, pointing a finger and narrowing her eyes and said, “That was an  _ insane  _ amount of food. A fucking  _ suspicious  _ amount of food.” with a voice full of accusation. Then her eyes had lit up, “Do you think it was a power move?” 

She was savoring it, her suspicion of Auradon. Rolling it around on her tongue like the last bite of a meal. Evie thinks it puts her back into her comfort zone, almost, though she’d never say it out loud. It’s never bad to be  _ too  _ suspicious, as long as your suspicion is pointed in the right direction. 

Even so, Evie had shaken her head, mentioned how no one else in the room had been phased.

“But, if we’re around long enough, we’ll find out either way.” 

It’s a big if.

When Evie surfaces from her thoughts, Doug has pulled out notebooks and pens and a thick tome with an artfully bubbling glass beaker on the cover, and casts a sidelong glance her way. Her face has settled in that way it does when she goes too far into her head, the one that Grimhilde had spent so long pounding into her. Not smiling, not frowning, just vacant and pretty and chinadoll-still. Breathing, she returns to herself, settling more naturally into her chair.

She looks at Mal and Jay, where they’re sitting across the room. They’re both taking up space in their chairs, leaning back to splay their legs out long. Jay’s arms are crossed over his chest as he watches the board, then watches the people, then back to the board, like he’s surveilling. Mal’s managed to procure a scrap of paper and a pen, probably from a passing student’s pockets and probably courtesy of Jay’s sticky fingers. She doesn’t look up. Evie finds she wants her to.  _ Really  _ wants her to. She breathes, in and out, and feels the tickle of magic again. 

“Evelyn!”

The sound of her full name makes her flinch, a full-body jolt to straighten up, fix her face, throw her shoulders back. Is her lipstick out of place? She’ll catch hell from mother if it bleeds, but it’s cheap, and even a touch of heat makes it melt. 

It’s not Grimhilde’s shrieking voice, though, that calls her name. She’s not sitting on a settee, attending her mother’s lessons. It’s the teacher, standing stern at the front of the room and looking directly at her. So is Doug, with a pinch in his brow. If she reached out, smoothed it with her thumb, he’d be putty in her hands. 

Everyone, actually, is looking at her. Might have even seen the way she flinched. Unfortunate. Mal, too, finally, with a carefully smooth expression broken only by a careful flick up of her eyebrows. Gripping her pen with thumb and pointer, she starts tapping it on the table, faux-casual, three fingers up. 

_ Ok? _

Evie snaps her gaze back to the man up front, who’s waiting impatiently for her response. 

“Professor?” She replies, giving her best impression of doe-eyed innocence. Twirling a finger into her hair, she signals Mal back.  _ Ok _ . 

Mister DeLay scowls, unmoved. 

“Perhaps you needn’t pay attention, and have already learned this material,” a telling pause, “ _ elsewhere _ ,” He says, with concealed disdain. The sour taste of his euphemism for her home and upbringing clearly lingers in his mouth, and it rankles her. She tenses her jaw, lets a bit of her innocent softness slip off.

“In any case,” He says, gesturing to the blackboard, “why don’t you come up here and show the class how to find the average atomic weight of silver.” 

She does not, in fact, know how to find the atomic weight of silver. He’s angling to make an example of her - a mild humiliation, but really one that’s at its most effective, right here, on their first day. 

“Atomic weight?” She repeats, shooting for unconcerned. It’s a play for time, and he must know he’s got her, but she giggles, flutters her eyelashes and says, “Well,” looks up at him, “Not very much, clearly. It’s an atom.” Her smile is innocent and sunny, but her eyes are sharp.

There’s a low ripple of laughs through the classroom, gratifyingly, which makes DeLay only scowl harder. 

The mirror, her mother’s magic mirror, is in the side of her boot for easy access, and it’s only too easy to palm it into her hands as she uncrosses her legs and stands to go up to the board.

She’s never used it before, but the gyst seems clear enough. Ask it a question, and it’ll answer you. 

Jay coughs when she stands, and she’s not sure if it’s because he saw the move, or because he didn’t. She looks sharply in his direction.

He raises a brow. She dips her chin. Her steps are confident, more strut than anything. DeLay won’t catch her faltering. 

“How  _ do  _ I find the average atomic weight of silver?” she parrots once she’s reached the board, and the mirror is tucked tight to her side, out of sight, and this better work. She breathes, in, out. 

“Well, let’s see,” she puts on the air of consideration, like she’s thinking about it. The glow as the mirror does its work is low enough that no one should catch it.

Numbers flash on the mirror without context, so if she’s asked to explain herself, she’s fucked, but she repeats them dutifully, lilts her tone somewhere between smug and bored, and writes the equation on the board.

Looking at the problem, as she flourishes out the answer, it’s simple enough math if she knows where to get the numbers from. Fifty-two percent of one thing, fourty-eight percent of the other. 

“And that, Mister DeLay,” Now, she makes eye contact, and her eyes go sharp and dangerous, “Is how you find the average weight of silver.”

She looks him up and down, long and slow, and bites her lip. He clears his throat, looking away uncomfortably.  _ Turnabout’s a bitch, huh? _

“I -- suppose I should have known better than to underestimate --” 

“A villain?” she cuts off his half-assed walk-back, lets her voice go silky smooth. He clamps his mouth shut. 

“Don’t make it again.” she splits the difference between sweet and dangerous, and tosses the chalk underhand back to him just to make him catch it. He fumbles. 

-

As she’s making her way back to her Doug, who has been watching with bewilderment, a blond boy near the front row passes her a note. He’s terrible at it, obvious as hell, just holding it out there for her to take. She slips it between two fingers anyways, flips it up into her sleeve as she struts by. Just to set the stage, she bites her lip at him, flashes her eyes. He’s handsome enough, and looks sort of stupid. The ideal mark, really. When she sits, Doug frowns at her, a question written on his face. She ignores it. If he wants it answered, he’ll need to voice it. 

Instead, she nods to the front, where the kid who passed her the note is sitting. She notes his oddly-coiffed hair, his expensively tailored jacket, the mouth-breathing part to his lips. He’s clearly not smart, like Doug, or particularly perceptive, and he doesn’t look like much to write home about in the strength department either. Rich, then. Rich, and nothing else. 

“Who’s that?” all innocent-interest.

She can see the moment Doug follows her gaze and realizes who she means, because his shoulders just  _ wilt _ with disappointment. She takes a moment to be flattered, even though she  _ knows  _ he wants her. 

“That’s Chad Charming.” He tells her flatly. Softly, too, but Evie thinks she’s made her point to Mister DeLay well enough that they won’t be bothered again.

“He’s Cinderella’s son,” He continues. She raises an eyebrow. 

“Prince Charming Junior?” She checks, skeptical as she looks back at the kid. He’s completely zoned out of the lesson, staring off into space. 

“That’s the one,” he confirms, and her skepticism seems to perk him up, “Handsome, sure, but not a lot of, ah,” He taps his temple, “ _ There _ , there, y’know?”

She grins, sharp and devious, at Doug. 

“He’s perfect.” 

-

Charming’s note says to meet him under the bleachers at the Tourney field after classes. She has to ask Doug where they even are, and he raises an eyebrow at her when he answers, but doesn’t press. Excuses are made to the rest of her crew, and she’s off down the hill toward it. 

He’s there when she arrives, tucked out of sight beneath the seats and leaning faux-casually against the support struts, but he comes out when he sees her, eyes lit up with eagerness, and takes her by the hand to lead her back to his hiding place. It’s all very over-the-top. 

God, he’s so bad at this. Does she play along with this little charade?

“Wow,” he says, looking right at her eyes and overacting so hard it almost comes out mocking, “Is everybody back home as pretty as you?” 

She giggles, looks down demurely, then up through her lashes. Is she going to have to sit through this for long? If she looks properly charmed, will he get to the point? 

“I like to think I’m the fairest of them all,” She quips with a touch of haughtiness, just to remind him who he’s dealing with. Where he gets off, thinking he can manipulate her into anything, she has no idea, but if it’s something she’s willing to provide anyways…

She darts her tongue out over her lower lip, and his eyes catch on it.

“And!” he adds, pointedly and without any thought to her reply, “You’re  _ smart _ ! That chemistry problem in class? You’ll have all the nerds after you.”

Right, okay. She’s beginning to triangulate the reason she’s here, and it’s probably not an illicit trip to a shady corner. Which, really, is just tragic, because that’s probably what would make him shut up. He thinks she’s pretty, clearly, but 

“Oh, I’m not  _ so  _ smart,” she demurs, “Did you ask me here just to shower me in compliments? You certainly know how to make a girl blush,” she titters. Get to the point, Charming. 

“I was thinking,” Says Charming, hitting her with a blinding smile that overshoots his namesake and lands right between ‘smug’ and ‘smarmy’, “You might like to come over sometime and see my  _ castle, _ ” dramatic pause, and his face goes crestfallen, “except I have so much homework!” He gives her a longing, heartbroken look that has laughter bubbling up in her chest. She tamps it down, waits for the punchline. It’s going to be good, she can tell. A lightbulb goes on behind his eyes.

“But maybe, you could do it for me?” There it is. 

She snorts a laugh, indelicate, and lets her whole body follow it through so he’ll see how absolutely ridiculous she thinks that is. He looks at her, thrown. 

“For what?” she asks, after letting him stew for a moment as she composes herself. He frowns, confused.

“What do you mean?” He asks. 

“I’m supposed to do your homework for you, for what?” and she steps forward into his space, “The pleasure of your company?” she gives another little chuckle, lets it go breathier this time, and purrs, “Make it something worth my while, baby boy.” 

And then she gives him an assessing once-over. 

“I -- uh,” He stammers, and she tilts her head, waiting. “Uh,” He says, and she puts a finger to his lips.

“Figure it out, and get back to me.” She tells him, and lets her finger drag down his chest, down over the front pocket of his pants, before stepping away. He’s a little bit hard. Well, that’s a fun development. Maybe this wasn’t a waste of time after all. 

She tucks his cell phone into the folds of her dress, out of sight, easy as anything, and leans back against one of the supports, just watching him. He won’t miss it.

After a dazed moment, he picks up his backpack and bolts. 

Once alone, Evie finally unleashes the eyeroll she’s been suppressing for the past several minutes, and she thinks it might literally feel like a relief to let it out. It’s a little refreshing, that the thing he wanted from her was a favor rather than a roll in the hay, but she’s not about to do something for nothing. She’ll hold out for a better offer, sow some seeds in other pastures in the meantime. 

Given enough time, she probably could’ve talked him around to it - if his reaction was any indication - but a long game isn’t necessarily out of the question, depending on how long they stick around. 

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” comes a voice from above. She snaps to attention, straightening, face going neutral-pleasant. Doug lowers himself to seated, hanging his legs down through the bleacher slats, and sets his arms on the supports. 

Speaking of other pastures. 

“Are you stalking me?” she asks, with a fond little tilt to her voice. 

“Technically,” he shrugs, unrepentant, and slides through the slats to hop down beside her. 

“You asked me where the bleachers were,” he explains. Doug is easy, reactive. He likes her, and all his feelings show right on his face and body for the world to see, heart-on-his-sleeve. She could destroy him, if she wanted to. 

“It wasn’t an invitation,” she says, but she smiles as she does, because she doesn’t particularly want to destroy him. 

“I didn’t trust Chad,” he scowls, “He’s a jerk.” She looks him over. It’s the first time she’s seen the kid express a negative emotion, and it’s a little refreshing to know that he’s capable of jealousy. Surprise, she’s seen plenty, and that fluttering nervous attraction that comes over him when she pokes the right spots, lilts out the right words. 

She really does have him hooked. She probably had him fully hooked the second she opened her mouth yesterday. It would be easy - as easy as destroying him, maybe easier - to step things up, a bit. She could press her advantage just a touch, and she’s sure he’d melt right into bed with her. She doesn’t particularly want to.

The thing about sex with men is that it’s not something Evie ever particularly wants to do. It’s easy enough, and it gets her things, and she’s good at it, but it’s a transaction. There are plenty of people who have sex for fun, but Evie isn’t one of them.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle myself,” She says, instead of  _ wow, for little old me? _ Or something about his sweetness, his caring, his honesty. She could needle him flushing and stuttering into a shady corner just like she could’ve with Chad, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to. 

There’s no shiny watch on his wrist or gold in his pockets that’ll get her a meal or some fabric or a favor. Any information she could get out of him, she’d be better off just asking outright. She has food. He’ll do her the favor anyways. 

“I saw,” He agrees, shoving his hands into the pockets of his khakis, “Listen, I wanted-” he stops, looking down. He’s nervous. He’s going to ask her something. He’s going to ask her  _ for  _ something.

Her stomach drops. He’s going to ask her for something, and it’s going to be easy, and this kid is sweet and sort of handsome. This is what she  _ does _ , making pretty boys fall for her to get what she wants. But she doesn’t need anything from him. And really, he doesn’t need anything from her, either, and she doesn’t want to. He’s easy to rile, and sweet, and it wouldn’t even be a hardship to 

“The coronation’s coming up soon,” he tells her instead, and she tilts her head at him, bracing for it. He shuffles on his feet. 

“Coronation?” she asks, both a prompt and a distraction. He blinks, looks up at her.

“Yeah,” he says, like she should know this already - as if she hasn’t been here for all of a single day, “Ben’s going to be crowned king, there’s a big pompous ceremony. Fairy Godmother gets out her wand for it and everything. Everyone at school gets to go, and there’s a dance afterwards, and, well.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I was thinking -”

Evie blinks, almost-but-not-quite interrupting to repeat, “Gets out her wand?”

She hangs onto this train of thought and rides it away from Doug’s question. If she plays this right, he won’t get another chance. “She’s a fairy. Doesn’t she have her wand, like, all the time?” 

Doug shakes his head at her, and she watches his face as he slides into this new track she’s laying, distracted by answering. Relief slides up her spine.

“Since Magic’s kind of illegal, she keeps it in a museum except for ceremonies,” He explains, matter-of-fact.

Wait, what?

“Births, knightings, Coronation --”

“Magic is  _ illegal _ ?” She interrupts, incredulous. She can feel it in the air around her, the crackle of its energy, the weight and the smell and the taste of it on her tongue with every word she says. She’s been deprived of it for sixteen years, and they don’t  _ use  _ it?

Doug shrugs, “Not  _ all  _ magic, exactly, but there’s --” he hesitates, “a stigma. Most people stopped using magic after ...” He trails off, winces, looks at her pointedly.

Maleficent, probably. And the rest of the villains, too - who used it for death and destruction and harm, all those twenty years ago. Even from the Isle, they still find ways to ruin things. 

She thinks of being a kid, making tinctures and infusions by the moonlight, the potion books from under the bed of her sleeping mother. She remembers stealing vodka from the market, back before the pirates monopolized production, and measuring it into jars with lionstooth and peppermint and clover and heads of white, urging them to do what the books said they will. Protect, give strength, heal. She remembers breathing in her first faint wisps of magic and how it had settled into her bones. 

“Listen, Evelyn, I wanted to ask -”

She turns on her heel and leaves, before he can get the question out.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things about the witchy bits: honestly the information disseminated on the internet by people who do herbal witchcraft in real life is wildly inconsistent. Feverfew IS actually sometimes used in clinical herbalism as an anti-inflammatory tho. Lionstooth is dandelions, and "head of white" means the heads of ox-eye daisies, which are a super common plant in my area. 
> 
> if anyone wants to talk abt plants and/or witchcraft and/or this fic, hmu on tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.pinterest.com/youcancallmemeg/verse-ascendants/  
> and  
> catch me on tumblr thebitchriarchy.tumblr.com


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